


Hanetz Hachamah

by FourAlignments



Series: Ha'Bayit Shelanu [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Designated Micheal Fassbender Shark Joke, Erik Lehnsherr Actually Being Jewish, Erik Lehnsherr Speaks Yiddish, Erik Lehnsherr is not a Happy Bunny, Especially From Sebastian Shaw, Even though not even interacting with Erik and his family he is hurting him, Gen, Good Parent Erik Lehnsherr, Kid Pietro Maximoff, Parent Erik Lehnsherr, Peter Maximoff Goes By Pietro, Pietro Maximoff is a Speedy Cinnamon Roll and Must be Protected at All Costs, Pre-X-Men: First Class (2011), Protective Erik Lehnsherr, Sebastian Shaw Being an Asshole, dadneto, mad men references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24685423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourAlignments/pseuds/FourAlignments
Summary: Waking up to the Parisian morning bustle. Erik spends time with his son, Pietro, before he has to continue his search for Shaw.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr/Magda (X-Men)
Series: Ha'Bayit Shelanu [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839922
Comments: 13
Kudos: 94





	Hanetz Hachamah

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took so long to post this. Originally it wasn't suppose to be this long in the first place, it was suppose to be just as long as the my previous work, but slightly longer. But now, its around 10 and half pages long. Whoops! Which I got say, um proud of myself, I wasn't attending to get that word count, but here we are. As I was writing this piece I had all theses: Ou! Interesting! Throw it In! moments several times throughout. I have this writing philosophy of "It Ends When It Ends." Which contributed to its length. 
> 
> Also, I am not Jewish. I am just someone who enjoys doing research and has a special fondness for political science and history, because my high school history was barely taught, so learned most of my history from the  
> the History Channel back when it was good and wasn't showing Ancient Aliens and Pawn Stars;abandoning History for ratings and money. I hope it adds depth to my writing. Though, I do have admit I'm Judaism-Curious,  
> to borrow a word from the LGBT+ community; would best describe me. But with the Pandemic and all, its it kinda of difficult to really get a sense of it. So, if my writing as a certain spirituality themes/tinge, not just in the X-Men fandom, but other works as well, that's probability the reason. 
> 
> Also as a lover of history, I feel like Vichy France doesn't get mentioned a lot in WWII Pop Culture especially in American context and Hollywood. What's usually the focused is Nazi Germany, Imperial Japan and the Pacific Theater, Wartime Britain, a little bit of Eastern Front, if we're lucky we get the Spanish Civil War/ Franco Spain, but that's thanks to Guillermo del Toro. 
> 
> Here's is further reading:  
> https://www.theguardian.com/world/2002/may/11/france.weekend7
> 
> https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/vichy-government-france-world-war-ii-willingly-collaborated-nazis-180967160/
> 
> https://www.researchgate.net/publication/323190011_Vichy_France's_Collaboration_with_Nazi_Germany
> 
> Robert Paxton:  
> Vichy France: Old Guard and New Order  
> Vichy France and the Jews
> 
> Thank you! Enjoy the read.

The clicking of heels on old cobblestone sidewalks; the café chatter as loyal customers strolled in and sat and their usual patio tables and talked about daily going on in their lives; the freshly ground espresso filling the cups of morning commuters from the outer _Arrondissements_ ; cyclist rang their bells telling pedestrians to watch out; flower shops opened and were putting out cut flowers and drizzling the delicate plants in water; fishwifes pulling out guts and gore from cod, sole, and northern pike and displaying their prizes on ice along with mussels, scallops, and prawns at their _Poissonnerie_ near the river Seine.

And despite the windows being closed in the hotel room the smell of cigarettes and cigars slowly perforated into the room. Despite the smell of tobacco, the pleasant smell of freshly baked sugary sweets tinkled his nose from the across the street Boulangeries: Pain au Chocolat, tarts, Éclairs, Millefeuille with their caramelized layers, Paris-Brest a bicycle-wheeled shaped light and crunchy choux with praline custard pastry cream and dashed with toasted almonds, and mont blanc. Along with the yeast enriched breads made at daybreak that were now hand-shape and cut and baking in the oven.

For Erik, Paris smelled like the best smelling city and the worst at the same time.

As streams of glistening bronze sunlight peaked though and dissipated the white sheer curtains lining the hotel’s windows. Glazing the room in golden radiance. Erik’s eyes fluttered opened and peered over to see his son, Pietro curled up against the side of his chest, gripping hard on his stuffed bunny. Unaware just how much he was loved and protected by his father. 

Erik carefully tucked back some flyaway sliver hairs behind his ear. But, the metalbender watched the rise and fall of his son’s chest, totally unaware of the nightmares within his father’s world. Sweet dreams were made of these moments when he had them, but dreams not filled with death were far and in-between. Oh, how he wished he could just stay in bed all day and just watch his son sleep and spend time with his family and not have care in the world.

One could not count the moons shimmering in the distance or light of a thousand splendid suns that hide behind the walls within their lives. Pietro’s smile and laughter were brighter than the sun itself. The symphony of the stars could not compare to his starlight hair. 

Pietro was his light, his world, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him in his reality of cruel and unrelenting darkness. His son made life worth living, he was the small amount of joy in his life. But like a light of flickering candle that life could dashed in instant if his enemies found out about him.

Pietro shifted in his sleep, pulling up the pearl white duvet covers over his head to keep the sunlight out of his face, and to continue to sleep for a few more minutes; however, the sunlight was already starting to set off his internal alarm clock. Erik allowed him to, just wanting to take in his son, before heading out. Savoring these moments of fleeting peace and light in his world of overwhelming darkness and violence.

Though…it wasn’t always this way, when he and Magda first struck the agreement to break their newly formed family not of a divorce or legal separation, but in a desperate attempt to keep them all safe from the man, who destroyed their lives many years ago. The both of them agreed, that it would be best if Pietro went with his father as Pietro’s sliver hair was a clear indicator was a mutant; to help with his soon to developing powers. Even though he knew how much it hurt and pained his wife to let her son go. Magda would go underground until he gave the word that it was safe again and hopefully their little broken family could be made whole again, once Schmidt was dead. He couldn’t let himself be happy if Klaus Schmidt was still out there. Living as if he did nothing wrong to harm his family; he couldn’t let Schmidt get away with it.

Perhaps, children were God’s expression of hope…. then why burn Anya to death? Why take her away? Mutant or no, he still desperately loved her and yet loved her even now. Moving to Ukraine it was a fresh start after all the horror and death that he witness in the camps. Her life was snuffed out far too early.

He didn’t even speak of his children or even hinted at having any when a conversation; that could give them that advantage over him. It was one more weakness that his multitude of enemies could exploit. If Schmidt ever found out…

That was a thought he didn’t even want to consider.

That man should not even know he had a son. Just the amount of danger, he put Pietro in for allowing him to be with him.

He promised himself he would lose no more family members to that monster.

Erik straightened his hair and combing back in an attempt to look semi-put together before his son woke up. The sun blitzes his auburn hair revealing streaks of blond hair running through it. And pondered on fonder memories with his son and their travels together.

Originally, he did book twin bedded room, one bed for each of them to sleep on. However, it quickly became apparent that his son missed his mom and during the nights wormed his way under his covers and cuddled up beside him, leaving with him drenched in sweat by the morning and having to take a cold shower. Pietro emitted waves of excess heat, so much so even when traveling to more colder countries he didn’t need to pack extra blankets for the two of them; he was their own heating blanket. After a while, he just gave up and decided to sleep shirtless. By that time, he decided to book from now on a double room because Pietro slept with him so much there wasn’t much need for a second bed anymore.

Suffering nightmares and the long comforting conversations between the two of them by the kiss of dusk’s sunrise. The darkest night, before the brightest day could shine bright, by listening of the fears between them. Teaching his son how to swim in the many rivers within West Germany’s borders of the _Flussschwimmbad_ , the river swimming pools, and _Naturbad,_ nature pool, with water quality so high that one could drink from them. That brought back fond memories of taking day trips with his family to _Unterbacher See,_ a lake outside Düsseldorf’s city center, that he didn’t believe still had before the Shoah. 

Erik sat up, cracking his shoulders and feeling the singing metal menagerie of mythical beasts sitting beside the analog clock on the nightstand; of the Ziz and Leviathan, that he handcrafted for his son. But their consent travels around the continent made the clean sliver tarnish.

From the corner of his eye, the stretching of small limbs reaching toward the hotel ceiling made him turn toward the center of the bed, as his son woke up, “Morning sleepyhead.” His son hair looked like a raven made a nest in it, “Did you sleep well?” Erik asked, as his son snuggled against his arm as he tried to get the sleep sand out of the corners of his eyes.

His small voice squeaked, “Yey, I slept good, Vati.” Pietro looked up at him with his soulful dark eyes, that reflected the bright sun, before dunking his head below as the sunrise shined directly in his eyes giving him black spots within his vision, “Too bright…”

Erik did a cursory glance around the apartment as it was supersaturated with the climbing sunrise’s rays making the room hotter. A simple swing of his hand, he touched the metal rings of the sheer curtains and mentality pulled them; filtering out the more intense light coming in. “Better?” Pietro nodded his head.

“I’mgoingbacktobed!” Pietro said in his fast speak, before pulling the white covers over his head. Erik rolled his eyes, oh his son, forever the little trickster in his world. But also, his milk and honey son that made life so much better. For whom, he was going to create a world, where he would be accepted. After Schmidt was dealt with.

Deciding to play along, “Oh, where did my sohn go?” A beat, “I can’t seem to find him anywhere.” Pietro let a noticeable giggle underneath the covers as his father moved about on top of the bed, “Could he be here?” tossing off the covers, only to reveal a pillow underneath. “I guess not,” Giving out a verbal sigh. Erik tired again, only to deflate an air pocket. From the corner of his eye, there was a moving small mass crawling over to his warmed spot. _Teyere Gat!_ Don’t fall off the bed and hit your head on the side table! Pietro tried to hide his high pitch squeaky laugh at his father seemingly ineptitude and tomfoolery; though the young speedster didn’t really notice Erik crawling up toward him; Thinking he was invisible to his father’s gaze in their morning game. He sucked in his breath and held it, when he didn’t hear anymore noise from him. He stilled even more.

Pietro jolted as the covers, that were protecting him, ripped away. “Found you!” The young speedster twisted his body to look at his father; exposing his belly as his batman pajamas pulled up by the contours of his body movement. Erik gave a shark-like smile, baring his teeth, and previously slicked-back strands now mussed over his face, light without gel that was needed to blend in to his world; but was not necessary here with his son. The sunlight streaming in and diffusing through the fine white curtain darken slightly as the cloud pass, before brightening to full strength.

In this time, Erik didn’t worry about the outside world and the horrors and uncertainty that came along with it. It was him and his son, Pietro; and that’s all that mattered to him. A small mischievous glint shined in his eye. Pietro cocked his head to the side on the bed linens. Erik pounced as he began tickling attack. Pietro’s laughter warmed the room. Not even a thousand stars nor the celestial bodies in the heavens above could outshine his son in this moment. Unbeknownst to Erik the metal objects in the hotel room began to levitate and heated up, turning bright and smoldering like gray charcoal embers of a dwelling fire. Having enough of Pietro’s flailing limbs trying in vain to get away from him, Erik said: “I am going to eat you!” Chomping down on Pietro’s soft marshmallow fluff belly with no real threat of his incisors. Erik blew a raspberry.

Pietro squirmed and wiggled his way out of his father’s arms and reaching an even higher peak in his squealing gleeful laughter. Erik was smiling and true wide smile, showing off his wide variety of teeth that would make a shark jealous with to how many teeth Erik had in his mouth. His son’s smile and laughter were dangerously contagious.

Erik was smiling so much that his cheeks began to ache. He hadn’t allowed himself be this happy in a long time; not since before his decision on finding and hunting down Schmidt. The metalbender settled back in his spot, flipping back over on his back. He steeled himself and hardened his eyes until only a death glare for his enemies remained. Erik gave a couple weighted deep breaths and gave himself a small chance to mediate on the moment; calming himself further.

And gradually, things began to wind-down between the two of them. The bed was quite the mess with the covers thrown over the edge of the bed and pillows depuffed and on the floor. His son noted the change in his father’s demeanor. 

Pietro was heaving out shallow breath trying to catch his breath as best as he could. Crawling up on Erik’s chest, before collapsing on his father’s chest. Not that he even seemed to notice, just focusing on his breathing. Pietro rode on the gentle and deep rise and fall of his father’s chest Erik opened his eyes and muttered, “ _Mein Sternenlichtlöwe,_ what I am ever going do with you?” Combing back Pietro’s wild sliver hair, and planting a light tender kiss on Pietro’s forehead, before the two singing together like many other mornings.

“מוֹדֶה אֲנִי האשה אומרת: מודָה לְפָנֶיךָ מֶלֶךְ חַי וְקַיָּם שֶהֶחֱזַרְתָּ בִּי נִשְׁמָתִי בְחֶמְלָה, רַבָּה אֱמוּנָתֶךָ:” For the two this was a special moment of closeness, before Erik went off and the early morning rush began; it was a one of those rare moments, when Pietro wasn’t hyperactive and filled with everlasting energy that Erik couldn’t hoped to stop. Bullets easy. Pietro on a sugar rush impossible. Though he did have a few tricks up his sleeve. Before, Erik and Pietro repeated in English: I am thankful before You, living and enduring King, for you have mercifully restored my soul within me. Great is Your faithfulness.”

It was a blessing, a constant in their lives, despite their travels around Europe, changing hotels, leaving in the middle of the night, long arduous train and plane rides to other countries, waiting for their luggage, the long layovers that lasted for hours, and their unceasing change of their environment within in their lives; it gave meaning to them because it was a shared ritual between them. A way for Pietro to connect with his heritage.

The morning had official began for the Lehnsherr family.

“We need to get ready for the day.” Bopping Pietro’s nose lightly for emphasis. Pietro slid off his father’s chest as his feed landed on the floor. The carpet was spare of children’s toys that he had seen on TV and catalogs. His son only had what they could carry on their backs. A blur of sliver and Erik heard the faucet being turned on and the water streaming into the porcelain sink basin and felt the metal being turned off and on as Pietro brushed his teeth; near the front of the room. Erik got up and out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.

Stepping onto the cold black and white tiled floors, Erik turned on the faucet that Pietro had turned off with his powers and slathered his hands with the Fresh and Clean scent soap bar and Pietro followed suit. Erik spoke out another blessing: “בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה׳ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּנוּ עַל נְטִילַת יָדַיִם” That Pietro had trouble with as the two began washing with the gushing water, cleaning off their hands for a good twenty seconds. Though Erik repeated the blessing in English: “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with Your commandments, and commanded us concerning the washing of the hands.”

In another blur of sliver Pietro came back to the bathroom doorway completely dressed in a dark navy T-shirt covered with a light gray jacket and blue jeans and conserve that on a particular boring lay over, decided to draw a sliver thunderbolt across his shoes with sharpie; ready for the day. Erik was thankful that Pietro hadn’t found coffee or worse espresso. Oh! The havoc that Pietro could do hyped on caffeine. Counterpointing his son, Erik was now just finishing brushing his teeth, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing his mouth; pulling the shaving cream canister toward him in the air and squeezing the button at the top making the aerosol push out the cream foaming in his hands. All he needed was a quick shave to get rid of his five o’clock shadow that he didn’t take care of last night.

“Vati…” Pietro voiced wandering off and Erik gave a glance toward his son, before returning his focus to the short movements of the shaving blade gliding across his face, swiping off the cream. He was about done. All he had left to do was the right side and under his neck.

Turning his full attention to his son, “Yes, Pietro?” Looking far less intimidating with shaving cream across half his face. The blade drifting downward whipping itself on the wet towel draped the counter basin, then hovering a few inches resting for Erik’s next command.

“Are you ever going to find the man…” Pietro stammered and joined and connected his thoughts rushing through his mind; knowing that this was a difficult topic for both of them to talk about. “Who hurt you… and our family?” The blade whooshed into the wall with incredible speed becoming like a projectile.

“I am sorry I upset you Vati!” Pietro blurred away, running to the other side of the hotel room.

Erik looked toward the heavens and under his breath, “ _Vey is mir_!” He could’ve killed his own son with his anger. He slammed his fists down onto the bathroom counter knocking over the toothbrush holder and mini shampoo and conditioner and toiletries. How stupid could he possible be! Erik commanded the razor come to him, but it stubbornly refused to heed him. Pulling from the deeper levels of his pain, the metal within the razor screaming as it followed his lead, and settling in his palm. Its blade’s now dulled and jagged. Erik sighed and called over his other razor, taking a few long strokes of the razor blade. He could feel the iron of his blood beating, increasing tempo as he allowed the blade to glide over the tender skin of his neck. Bringing it up to his face to do a few small short strokes, finally finishing.

Erik turned his attention to the hall closest, pulled the closet’s folding door that held his many suits open with his powers; flicked through them, before taking out his selection. For all his enemies knew, he was Mad Men from Madison Avenue with his corporate uniform: a charcoal gray suit with a single button coat with geometric pockets square and minimalist tailoring. Erik gelled back his hair and styled it to his liking and then washed his hands again getting rid of the access gel from his hands. Pulling on an undershirt, and quickly getting dress, all except his jacket. He didn’t want his son spending all day just brooding on his negativity.

For at least, Pietro saw the world. Unlike other children his age, that simply didn’t have the luxury. But then again this was no vacation. He was hunting dangerous and powerful men. Powerful men, who gained that power not through the people, who granted them such power. But off the backs of slave labor, torture, and mass industrialize murder. Men who think they are above accountability. By Government. By the courts. By the law. Part of a special class, where the rules don’t apply to them. At this moment, Pietro wasn’t ready to see just how cruel the world could be to mutants and those at the edges of society; that society viewed as unacceptable within the current world order and an economic system built on the exploitation of others for the few gains. The days of reaping chaos based on their greed.

But a part of him knew, he knew, Pietro already saw it; as the days pasted, his son witnesses more and more of human’s cruel nature. Perhaps it was his own arrogance that was blinding him to his own son’s loss of innocence. He was a terrible father. Pietro didn’t have any friends to speak of because of their content moving. Pietro deserved a childhood, a childhood he didn’t have. His son shouldn’t be worrying about Schmidt that was his responsibility and burden. 

It was them against the world. Not really apart of human society. Mutants.

Alone.

Walking out the bathroom with jacket in hand and his maroon tie loose, Erik saw Pietro sitting on the bed as he closed the door behind him. Something must be really bothering his son. The metalbender came over to the speedster touching his shoulder, “Come on let’s make the bed.” The younger mutant jumped off the bed and went over to the other side of the mattress near the window.

Tossing off the many pillows. Despite Pietro small stature, he was quite strong, he always thought it was a side effect of his mutant as his body had to adapt to his high speed. The two shucked the downy comforter off the bed along the sheets underneath. He didn’t want anyone coming into their room; he didn’t trust the hotel staff to keep their mouths shut if given the right price. Erik wanted his enemies or anyone who helped them to get away to know that he was coming. The two of them dragged the pure white covers and pinching the corners underneath the mattress. Pietro’s voice pipped up again, “Vati, the Sabbath candles are stubby. And can we get challah bread? And, could you make Frenchie bread?” Before adding, “Please??” Layering the comforter on top and smoothing it out.

“Yes of course.” Answering his son as he puffed up the pillows and settling them on the bed, “We can go to Korcarz. I’ve heard some good things about it. And its in the _Pletzl_ and that the center of _Rue des Rosiers_. I think we’d be quite welcomed there.” The Marais district was originally an aristocratic district, housing the elite and French nobility, where they built their urban mansions and Hôtel particulier. Up and until the French Revolution, when the nobility and upper class vacating the area completely. With the downfall of the French nobility and the emancipation of the Revolution, that vast swaths of Jews came from Alsace-Lorraine, and Eastern Europe; Romania, Austria-Hungary, Russia came bring them the Ashkenazic traditions of Russia, Poland, and Alsatia, along with the Sephardic traditions of Spain and Portugal; becoming the Jewish quarter of Paris.

The _Plezl_ was devastated and suffered in its darkest hour during Shoah as more than half of the residents were murdered in the camps. Out of the darkness, tiny sparks of light glowed and the community began to rebuild. Despite everything that happened, the Marais district was severally run downed and dilapidated after the war with little to no plumbing, running water or elasticity and becoming to be known as the “Armpit of Paris” was originally slated for demolition from the banks of the river Seine all the way to the Gare de l’Est. But, André Malraux, the culture minster made Marais the first _secteur sauvegardé_ ; safeguarding the cultural and rich heritage with the Malraux law. The Jewish heart and soul of _Plezel_ wasn’t squeezed out.

He did have some former French Résistance contacts within the community. Communist, socialist, women, Gaullist, Armenians, Georgians, Spanish Maquis, and Jews, who were fighting a war within a war for their very survival. Their homes were a place of refuge, for at least some measure of peace. He didn’t want to get anyone else involved that could jeopardize their livelihoods. Schmidt was a dangerous man; he always found a way to get back at his own enemies in retribution. 

With the bed finished, Erik began to walk over back to the hall closet. before a gush of quick wind came out behind and in a blink of an eye, Pietro had brought him his dress shoes and socks and handed them to him “Thank you, Pietro.” Sat on the bed to help him keep his balance as he put on his shoes, and Pietro joining him as he was putting on his socks and tying his shoes.

“When will you tell me, what happened to my _Bobeshi_?” Pietro paused scooting closer to his father and his dark whirlpool eyes swirling in pain and unshed tears. “I look at other families, the other kids and they all have uncles, aunts, grandparents…and I don’t have them. Why don’t I have a _Bobeshi_ or _Zeydee_?” Pietro’s voice crackling.

“I will tell you when you’re older, Pietro.” Hoping to calm the maelstrom in his son’s eyes, and the threat of tears falling; his voice smooth and welcoming.

Pietro shot off the bed, “But I want to know, NOW!” Pietro catapulting into a shout, and stomping a foot on the floor. Erik was proud that his son was standing up for himself and rebelling against him. But this was not the time for it. Schmidt could have his spies and operatives from the Hellfire Club anywhere. His son could draw attention to them and it could get them killed. He wasn’t risking his son’s safety for anything.

Erik steeled himself and hardened his tone, “Where this coming from?” Pietro didn’t even look at him, “I do not wish to traumatize you further, Pietro. All you need to know is that man hurt me and our family.” That didn’t get through to his son; he was such a horrible parent. Erik added, “The things he did to me would give you nightmares.” “I do not wish that upon you.” He would give Pietro one more snippet of information. “He—Schmidt is the reason why I don’t have a mother anymore—” Erik corrected himself, “—Why you don’t have a _Bobeshi_ anymore.”

He was figuring out things far too quick for his own good; learning about things that should not know. There was a time to learn for Pietro to know the collective trauma of his people, but that wasn’t a burden he was willing to bear to put on his child. He knew his son had to learn, but on their own terms; and with Pietro isolation from other children due to the color of his hair…and going through the same hatred he experienced for simply being a Jew and their content moving around place to place; he didn’t want to send Pietro spiraling into a dark void that he couldn’t get him out of. Add any more stress to his life.

He scooped Pietro off the ground and brought in him into a hug; Erik wanted to squeeze out all of Pietro’s pain and sadness “I am just trying to protect you.” Squeezing Pietro tighter within his arms.

Pietro reciprocated the hug by wrapping his arms around his neck, “But why did he hurt us?” Speaking into his neck, the sound of his question reverberating into his skin.

Erik thought it best if he was looking at him directly. He slowly brought Pietro down back to the ground, “Because we were different.” Erik answered.

Pietro asked another question, “Are people going to hurt us because we’re…mutants?” Just confused about the world with all its constrictions and unevenly applied rules.

It was just one of those days, when Pietro asked too many questions for his own good. Though he would admit he was astonished by his son’s curiosity of the world; even at his age he wasn’t as half as inquisitive. He hoped it would flourish into a love of learning and challenging himself. He must have gotten it from his mother. But he welcomed it all the same: he was father and teacher; it was his duty. “I am not going to allow that Pietro because I am going to keep you safe.”

“Are we the only ones?”

They were alone. Mutants without a tribe. A culture. Or home. No other mutants were going to help them. If there were any more mutants. He doubted any humans outside his network would help them. “Of course not, we are not alone—we simple haven’t found them yet.” Flashing a smile.

It was a lie.

“I miss _Daj._ ” Pietro whimpered, rubbing the tears out of his eyes before they could catch and fall, “I want to see her again.” Drawing in a breath that hitched in the back of his throat, “I miss her soo much.” Teetering on his feet back and forth, trying to get some his energy out in fidgets, “I miss her _janija_ and _sho shoi_. Her smile, her hugs, her…” Losing his train of thought, “I miss her.” His shoulder collapsing, sniffing up the watery snot in his runny nose, before it could run down his face.

“I miss her too.” Joining Pietro in another embrace. He truly missed Magda, she was the light in his world, when he was darkest of places, both of them were, and yet she was still so kind and goodhearted despite the evil and inhumanity around her. She kept him going and he would repay that kindness and hope with trying to make it up to her in the rest of their lives together. Magda was the only person that was left of his old world remaining and Pietro was his new world. He hoped Pietro didn’t have to live in a world like he had and experience the horrors he had. 

“I have a question.” Pietro young high-pitched voice shattering him out of his thoughts racing across his mind.

“What is it, Pietro?” He answered again. If he could he would answer everyone of Pietro’s questions as best as he could. It didn’t matter the subject or topic.

“How long did the plagues last? In Egypt, I mean, Vati.”

“Until they learned something.”

His enemies would learn something: his vengeance. He never wanted to see Pietro like this ever again. They would be reunited with Magda and they would be happy, finally. He was doing all of this for his mother, his father, and all the family and friends he lost in during the Shoah; and his son. No matter what he had to do the threat of Schmidt had to end. That man would no longer be able to hurt, touch, or make his family suffer because of his arrogance. Pietro’s slight discomfort now would not be wasted if it meant his freedom from Schmidt’s gaze and the experimentation he would do to Pietro if he ever got to him. Schmidt wouldn’t lay a finger on him as along as he had a single breath in his body; he would protect his son. He would see the full extent of his powers that he unleashed.

His anger wasn’t just for Schmidt, but the men who collaborated and gave refuge for men like him and didn’t see the pain and suffering that they caused. What disgusted him was the whole avoidance and obfuscate of responsibility; not even the soil of the country he was tracking Schmidt on wasn’t without blame or blood on their hands.

It was like the whole of France had amnesia; the Fourth and Fifth Republic denied it. Buried it. Not letting the truth see the light.

But why?

When simply forgetting and officiating, and bolstering and exaggerated about the size and importance of anti-German sentiment and unanimous resistance support and precipitation in occupied France in the collective memory of French people was so much easier to do. _Résistancialisme_ as it was called; heroic myth, so powerful and overwhelming, almost hegemonic within the minds of the people; that it was to the point of mythologizing the past. A myth developed to define a new identity and aspirations; to reinvent themselves in the post-war period to hold their heads high, though duly indebted to the Allies, France liberated itself and restoring unity, confidence, and honor. But, not dealing with the trauma of defect, occupation, and civil war. It was a lie. A weaponized lie. Out of it came a nasty unscrupulous to deny and shout over the voices and stories of who themselves were the survivors; limiting their freedom, preventing healing, and repair of society. 

When de Gaulle himself promoted it. Who dare challenge it?

The silence was deafening.

Erik wished this fabricated self-puffery would end. He considered their silence to be violence. Not of the physical of sorts. Violence of impunity. The thought of never getting justice. To not accept that bad things happen in the past; humans were doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past. Never coming to terms with the past meant another generation would suffer. Denying otherwise was revisionism. But the denial of collective, historical, and cultural history and the myths portrayed was abhorrent. The whole point of history was not to be written by the winners, deifying supposedly great men and never be questioned. Something to be learned from.

He didn’t want, what happened to him; to happen to any other people. Never again.

Just men following orders. But, for Erik collaboration was just as evil; whether that be war profiteers, government offices, or political leaders. Vichy France was ready to accept discipline and authority; and implanting laws on their own accord without any intervention more Germany. Who knew such orders could come from a spa town, France’s Las Vegas, with wretched and rank smell of hypocrisy, that despite supporting puritanism, family values, forbidding women to have short skirts or shorts, abhorred divorce; in Vichy was filled with up scale brothels and free sexuality and accounts of naked women surrounded by champagne in the Ministry of Propaganda in the Hôtel du Parc, where the Vichy government took residence in. French police went above and beyond what the Gestapo ordered; taking women and children in the Vel' d'Hiv' Roundup and other like it. Still politicians said Vichy was a mere helpless victim and not active participant in the Shoah.

Machine men. With machine hearts and machine minds, who failed to see the humanity, unable empathize and sympathize to not see the Divine Spark within another and accepted a doctrine of cruelty, inhumanity, and hatred; a true loneliness to be utterly cut off from another human being and the total inability to ever look outside of one’s own view from the other’s view; and didn’t see the suffering and pain that they were causing. 

The sun was setting on those types of men. He was going to create a new world for his son, a better one; once Schmidt was dealt with, peace was never opinion for him for men like that, too far gone in their hatred.

“Come on, Pietro we need to go to breakfast.” Tapping the boy’s shoulder. It was always amusing to the waiter’s eyes roll out and on to the ground when he asked for two adult menus. Pietro could eat his portion size and more if he had the chance. Soft scrambled eggs the size of his head, fists full of roasted rosemary potatoes, ten thick slices of bacon, several toasted brioches slathered in jams and jellies, bowl after bowl of sugary cereal, large cuts of French toast to top Pietro’s first breakfast off; along with many refills of malted milk. He did have to admit he did place a wager a time or two on some of customers, who had it in their minds that a small five-year-old couldn’t eat that much without getting an upset stomach.

Erik grabbed his jacket one the way out, putting it on, completing his outfit. Called out to the keys, sitting on the side table by the bed, which flew into his hands. “Once I get back. We’ll work on your Hebrew, reading comprehension, writing, and maths.” Locking the door of their hotel room shut. Stashing the keys in his pants pocket.

Pietro went to Erik’s side to as the two walked together, side by side in the hallway, “I don’t like maths. I don’t get it. Its soo hard. Why do I have to learn it?”

Grasping Pietro’s hand tighter, trying to get a better grip on Pietro’s small hand, “You will learn it Pietro. I promise and I know you’re having trouble with it, but we will get through multiplying and dividing together. You are going to feel so proud of yourself when you do, Pietro. Because it isn’t the simple and easy things in life that give you a sense of accomplishment, but the hardest. You’ve been through so much already Pietro. You have such determination and strength of will that no one can take away. Not even me.”

“I love you, Vati.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please bookmark, give kudos, suggestions and comment! I do not mind long comments, long short it doesn't matter. It makes my day, a little more brighter. As long it is not hate or flames, I'm fine. 
> 
> Final note: I'm a bit divided with myself rather or not to have this be a prequel to that small multi-chapter fic, I was talking about on Tumblr because sometimes ideas do bleed over into one another. 
> 
> Now, I'm going to have that Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream that has been calling my name for a week for my reward.


End file.
